


A Thousand Things

by petals42_tumblr (rosepetals42)



Series: Teen Wolf Tumblr Fics [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: At least through Season 2, Canon Compliant, F/F, Friends to Lovers, POV Second Person, Post Season 2, Realization, background Scira
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 12:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7801087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosepetals42/pseuds/petals42_tumblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>In a world where almost nothing makes sense, she’s your constant. She’s your first and last text of the day. She’s your one phone call.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>She’s your best friend. Of course she is. What else would she be?</em>
</p>
<p>After Scott and Jackson, and then Scott (again) and Ethan and Isaac, Allison realizes something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Things

**A Thousand Things**

You miss all the clues in the beginning. There are at least a thousand and you somehow miss all of them.

And why wouldn’t you?

There’s Scott and there’s Jackson, and then there’s not Scott and no Jackson, but soon, there’s Scott again and Ethan and then there’s Isaac. Though, Ethan is gone soon enough.

In a world where almost nothing makes sense, she’s your constant. She’s your first and last text of the day. She’s your one phone call.

She’s your best friend. Of course she is. What else would she be?

*^*^*^

“Help me with algebra,” you ask. Both of you are lying across your bed, legs casually touching in a way that means nothing because you are girls and you’ve changed in front of each other a thousand times. Two days ago you proudly told her that you finally shaved after two weeks and she’d run a hand up your leg and congratulated you with a roll of her eyes.

“No,” she replies, not looking up from her book. You lean over to see diagrams of different forms of archery. “I’m busy.”

“You’re not even working on schoolwork!” you whine. She flips a page without looking up. She’s not going to help you. You know that. You’d heard her deny Scott and the others often enough. The most she will do is give out her notes. She doesn’t have time to explain concepts to idiots. Your best bet is Stiles. It may take him a while to get to the topic but he’s had enough experience helping Scott that he isn’t a bad teacher.

You know all this. You just don’t accept it.

“Pleeeaase,” you say. You’re the best friend. You should have special privileges. “Pleeeease. I’ll-”

“Oh, alright,” she says before you can even finish your bribe. “Let me see what you have so far.”

You grin and she glares at you as she picks up a pencil.

*^*^*^

You spend some lunches going through the boys of Beacon Hills High that she could possibly date.

She considers each one with a critical eye and a frown of distaste and turns them down.

“You’re so picky!” you tell her after she rejects the quarterback of the football team because he “lumbers when he walks.”

“Of course,” she says, casually flipping her hair behind her shoulder. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

So high school continues and she stays single.

Eventually, even the most desperate of boys give up asking her.

She looks pleased by the development.

You are too. It’s nice not having to share her.

*^*^*^

“Allison,” she tells you, with a roll of her eyes. “You look hot. You always look hot.”

There’s a note of wistfulness in her voice that you can’t place. But you assume it’s because you’re wearing a red dress and she’s always bemoaned the fact that she can’t wear red because of her hair.

She could pull it off, you want to tell her. She could pull anything off. She’s beautiful.

For some reason you don’t say it out loud though. It doesn’t feel right.

*^*^*^

Prom is prom. Which is to say, prom is fantastic.

The group dances as a circle for most of the fast songs and you dance with Isaac for all the slow songs (of course) and watch over his shoulder as Lydia allows Stiles to pull her into waltzes he learned on youtube that never go to the beat of the music. But he’s given up on her and her smile is fond instead of forced and it makes you smile.

You go to the bathroom together and you don’t remember what you laugh about but you remember laughing until you can’t breathe. And when you return, the boys are dancing together in a mass of clumsy limbs and-

“Ah, forget ‘em,” she tells you, pulling you in close and wrapping her arms around your waist. “We never needed the idiots anyway.”

This close up, her eyes are breathtaking.

*^*^*^

Summer starts and you and Isaac do the opposite.

You break up with him quietly.

He doesn’t make you blush. Not like she does.

You don’t know what that means, but you think it’s important.

*^*^*^

“Are you jealous?” she asks, glancing up from her plate of fries to make eye contact for only a searing heartbeat before dropping again. The pack is out for dinner, taking up a long table that stretches across the back of the diner. You don’t know what she’s talking about.

You blink in confusion and you don’t say it but she must’ve seen it anyway.

“About Scott and Kira,” she supplies, waving a hand unerringly in their direction.

You had been staring at them, you realize. Well, not at them. But in their direction. Scott is smiling the smile that used to be yours and Kira’ eyes are all openness and honesty in a way yours never were and-

“No,” you reply, turning to look instead at the way her hand hovers over each fry delicately before choosing one. As if she can sense the shape and texture of each one before she chooses.

You’re not jealous. You’re confused.

*^*^*^

When you finally sit down to think about it, you realize that things haven’t _changed_.

She still mercilessly teases you about your clothing, and sometimes makes inappropriate comments about your _dad_ , and gruffly informs you not to be so angsty on a weekly basis and-

You don’t know if that means you’re delusional or just slow on the uptake.

*^*^*^

The indecision slowly kills you.

It’s all you think about. You turn it over in your mind over and over, trying to figure out if it feels _right_. You assess and obsess and regress and you don’t talk to her for a week because she’s your _best friend_ and you want to ask her about this because you’re not _sure_.

Not about your feelings. You’ve figured those out.

It’s hers you’re worried about.

*^*^*^

Scott is frowning at you in his way that says he’s partly confused and partly concerned.

It’s been nine days and you’ve decided to ignore it. It’s all in your head and she’s your _best friend_ and she’s _Lydia_. If she had wanted something, she would have taken it. So it’s best to forget. Forget and move on.

“What?” you ask him anyway and it comes out more aggressive than you wanted it too. Just because you made the decision doesn’t mean you’re happy about it. But you’re texting her again, citing a training mission with your dad and exhaustion as your reason for being AWOL for over a week and she hadn’t asked questions beyond “Did you try the new arrow grip I told you about?”

“Are you okay?” he asks and then he takes a deep breath. You hate when he does that. Werewolf smelling should be a consensual act.

“Scott,” you start, pursing your lips and you realize then that it’s a habit you’ve picked up from her. Frantically, you try to rearrange them. “We’ve talked about this.”

“You smell… different. Like,” he’s still frowning, focused on a puzzle that you hope he can’t solve. “Oh!”

He’s got something and you freeze.

“What is it?” you ask. Does love carry a scent? Could he tell who it’s directed to?

“You don’t smell like Lydia,” he says. “You normally see her every day. Is she okay?”

“Yeah,” you force the word out of a suddenly dry mouth. “Yeah, she’s just… been sick. Stuck in her room.”

“Oh, bummer,” he says. And then Stiles is there, interrupting as always, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

*^*^*^

You go see her with every intention of just being normal. Of discussing the latest episodes of tv you haven’t bothered to watch but read the summaries of online, of debating the different fighting styles you’ve both been studying, of telling her about the research of banshees you’ve been doing.

You’re ready to act like nothing has changed.

So you head to her house without calling beforehand because you’re her best friend. You haven’t needed an invitation for months. And you let yourself in because Stiles’ isn’t the only best friend with a key to the house and it’s only when you get to her room and you see her that you realize you’ve made a mistake.

Her hair is piled into a messy bun at the top of her head and she is wearing sweats and a hoodie and she looks both surprised and annoyed to see you unannounced after ten days and somehow her makeup is still flawless.

She is beautiful and you are an idiot.

“Look,” she says and it’s the same tone you’ve heard her use with the boys a thousand times. “I don’t know what you think you know but I will not let anything come between us. Not even me so you can just-”

You kiss her because you have to. Because there’s no other option and you don’t want there to be.

You kiss her because you are in love with her and what else could you possibly do?

She kisses back, slow and sweet and endearing, and when you finally part, her eyes are wide and surprised.

You’re both blushing.

For the first time since you’ve met her, awkward silence descends over both of you.

“Well.”

She finds her voice first. Of course she does.

“Well, that was… unexpected.”

You nod. You can’t decide if you want to tackle her to the bed and kiss her until you can’t breathe or if you want to fill her in on the thousand things that you’ve missed out on telling her over the past ten days.

In the end, you do both. You curl your hands in her hair and mumble stories against her neck and laugh when she tells you she’s decided to learn knife throwing and kiss her eyebrow when she arches it in judgment. You grin when she gasps and playfully bite her when she manages to make another joke about your father and you don’t stop smiling for the next four hours.

*^*^*^

You start senior year as you started junior year, flinging open the doors shoulder to shoulder, relying on Lydia’s mere presence to keep people out of your way.

The only difference is that this year, you are holding hands.

You have never been so happy.

You don’t think she has either.

End.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this!


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